


When Ghosts are Laid to Rest

by Renai_chan



Series: Skeletons [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:10:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renai_chan/pseuds/Renai_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers are not called ‘Avengers’ for nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Ghosts are Laid to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to ‘The Past Still Haunts Us’ because I wasn’t satisfied with the amount of Clint/Coulson in it and I needed more mother-henning from the team ^^
> 
> M/M Sex, mentions of past abuse & non-con/dub-con stuff

The cursor blinked at him menacingly, daring him to do something—anything—but Phil found that he could do nothing—not the paperwork that was steadily increasing as he continued to ignore it, not the training plans that needed reviewing, not his office that needed reorganizing—not when Nick had kicked him out of the debriefing room where Clint was recounting the events that happened yesterday.

 

_‘You’re too invested in this,’_ he had said. He was right, really, and he’d later hear the story from Clint anyway, but for now, he could do nothing but wait. And worry.

 

It was a strange feeling; Phil hardly remembered a time in his life when he had no will to work, whether it be something as mundane as straightening his desk or something as serious as field work.

 

He checked his watch—they would be done in a few minutes more. Hopefully. They’ve already been in there for an hour—and sighed and put his laptop away, leaning back against the chair and knitting his hands together over his stomach. He stared at the SHIELD logo across his desk and thought about its meaning, history, origins, significance, anything really to keep from standing up and striding to the holding cells to strangle Maximillian Smith to death.

 

_‘I was willing to give you a second chance you know… Until I learned you’ve been whoring yourself out to that agent.’_

 

It was then that Phil had rushed out of the Finance department, having been in the middle of auditing some expenses. He’d taken the helicopter with nary a thought; his clearance was high enough that the operator hadn’t questioned him. The pilot had been out to lunch, but Phil didn’t need him anyway. He flew the machine to the mansion’s helipad, all the while, a buzzing in his ear saying:

 

_‘You used to love this. You have such a fetish for guns, don’t you? Probably why you’re such a good sniper.’_

_‘Touch yourself. You want to, and I won’t stop you.’_

_‘Go on, Clint, jerk yourself off.’_

_‘Yes, fuck, yes… Look at you. Yes…’_

_‘On your hands and knees.’_

He’d shot Max with the barest of restraints, aiming for non-lethal areas rather than his forehead which would have been Phil’s first choice, and restrained himself from shooting the bastard any more.

 

“You’re thinking about it again,” came a smooth murmur from the direction of the door. Phil looked up to see Clint reclining casually against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles. There was the barest of pauses before Clint pushed himself off the door, sauntered over and appropriated himself on Phil’s desk, directly in front of him. Phil gave in to the urge to stroke his slacks-clothed thigh, earning a small moan from his lover; his hand moved further up to Clint’s chest and tangled itself in the barely-used necktie, using it as leverage to pull the other man down, closer, so that their lips would meet. Clint moaned again and slid neatly off the desk to sit in Phil’s lap, his knees tucked into the chair on either side of the older man. Phil pulled away before they could get any further though.

 

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” he said. Clint made a small noise of disagreement. “You should—“ he started, but Clint slapped a hand over his mouth.

 

“I should be forgetting what happened, and what better way for you to help me do that than fuck me here in your office—something you’ve refused to do every time I’ve asked,” he sent a cheeky smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his other hand was digging around Phil’s lap, so he ignored the small voice in his head that said Clint should go see the resident psychiatrist and pulled Clint back into a kiss. He moaned as Clint stroked him through his slacks with one hand while the other fumbled with his belt. It was a vicious battle, but Clint finally managed to worm his hand between them to wrap it around Phil’s cock and pry a moan from the agent.

 

Phil pushed Clint’s blazer off his shoulders and tossed it out of the way before tugging the tie loose and unbuttoning his shirt. He didn’t quite manage to get either article of clothing off because Clint had stood up and wriggled out of his shoes and slacks, throwing them a good distance away. He settled himself on the floor between Phil’s knees and wrestled his cock out of his pants and Phil carded his hands through Clint’s hair to guide his mouth onto his cock. The archer licked him from base to tip before taking the head into his mouth and sucking softly. Phil leaned his head back against the chair and let out a moan because damn if Clint wasn’t great at giving head. He licked and sucked and jerked him until Phil was pretty sure he was going to come from just that.

 

And then Clint pulled away and climbed back onto Phil’s lap. He aligned the older man’s cock with his entrance and with barely any warning, pushed himself down onto it, muffling his moan with Phil’s mouth. Phil grasped the bare hips for leverage and slowly met Clint’s movement with his own thrusts.

 

“Harder, Phil,” Clint murmured into his ear and how could Phil say no to that? He grasped his hips harder and thrust deeper, Clint arching his neck as he did. Phil took the opportunity to bite down on the bare collarbone while his hips snapped upward again and again and again until they found the angle just was not _enough_. He moved his hands to Clint’s ass to wrestle the pair of them out of the chair and drop Clint onto the desk, still joined with him, uncaring of the papers and stationary on the desk that fell to the floor. There, he grasped Clint’s hips again and drove into him, hard, desperate. Clint cried out and arched his back and begged for more, clutching onto the edge of the desk for leverage. Phil pulled him into another kiss as he thrust into his lover and grasped at his erection, tugging and stroking until Clint let out a loud, muffled sob in Phil’s mouth and came and came and came and became his undoing as he followed suit not a moment later.

 

He pulled out of the archer and adorned his face and neck with kisses, pulling him up off the desk and back onto his lap on the chair. Clint buried his face in the crook of Phil’s neck and let out a soft sigh.

 

“I’ve messed you up,” he noted absently and Phil let out a small chuckle. He tilted Clint’s chin up for another kiss before pulling off his soiled tie and cleaning them as much as possible with it. “You can wear mine,” Clint offered. He pulled off the purple and gold necktie he wore and wrapped it around Phil’s neck, tying it neatly.

 

“There goes my reputation with the other agents,” Phil teased, inspecting the tie for traces of come. It was clean enough, though, so he smoothed it out and righted himself as well as possible. “Go home,” he murmured, kissing Clint again. “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

… … … … …

 

“Agent Romanoff,” Nick greeted as she entered the room. Nick’s office was sparsely furnished—function the prime importance—and small compared to other heads of government organizations. That was why she liked Nick above all others. He didn’t care about how he was viewed by others; he cared only about running SHIELD properly, efficiently, effectively, even if it meant he didn’t earn as much, didn’t have the nicest office, didn’t have the best standing in the government.

 

Natasha sat herself in the armchair opposite the desk, waiting for Nick to continue speaking over the tent of his fingertips. He looked at her, but didn’t see her; it was a strange expression on Fury because he always looked as if he was in the moment, never lost in thought.

 

“I have an errand for you to run,” he said. “In your personal time of course.” It was then that she noticed the security cameras were disabled and that this was extremely confidential. She nodded once. “Agent Coulson’s birthday is coming up next month and I need you to pick up his gift and deliver it to him,” he continued. Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve approve the vacation leave you requested five days ago to go to Nepal in a month for some time to recharge. Hopefully, you’ll find the time to stop by India and pick up the package from this address…” he slid over a piece of paper that Natasha read quickly, memorized and returned. “Thank you, agent. You may go.”

 

As she left, she felt an urge, deep within her gut, to laugh. Seriously, Nick needed to learn more unique ways to tell her she needed to employ her assassination skills.

 

Nevertheless, she headed back home to plan. She did, after all, have someone to… _meet_ in India.

 

… … … … …

 

Tony clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them, looking at the files before him. They were confidential CIA files of course: personnel files, financial statements, expense reports, division budgets, court documents and others. The CIA had excellent security software, and Tony should know; he designed it himself. As the designer, though, they did shit to keep him out.

 

Carefully, and without a trace of hesitation and guilt, he made changes to the data on the files before him, fudging them such that Maximillian Smith would have several more severe charges to face in addition to his assault charge against Clint: extortion, graft, unlawful discharge of a weapon against an unarmed civilian, among others—things that would get him locked up permanently.

 

He neatened up the files and fit them seamlessly back into the system, carefully cleaning up any traces that he had hacked into it.

 

“Tony?” called a voice from the doorway. He turned to see Steve weaving his way through the tables in the workshop, petting Dummy absently.

 

“Hey,” Tony greeted, tilting his head up for a kiss that Steve gave without hesitation. Then Steve looked up into the computer screen and a thoughtful look crossed his face.

 

“You aren’t supposed to be hacking into the CIA, Tony,” he said, but Tony shrugged.

 

“He had it coming to him. This is probably the least of his concerns, anyway; not with Coulson out for blood.” Steve made a soft noise of assent.

 

“Tone…” he started, fitting himself onto the nearest tabletop and pulling Tony into his arms. He buried his face into Tony’s neck while the other petted his hair. “I hate what he planned to do—what he _did_ to Clint… If I ever learn that somebody did the things Max did to Clint to you, I’d… I’d probably hunt them down and strangle them…” Tony’s petting stopped because it was strange, and a tiny bit frightening, to hear those kinds of words coming out of Steve’s mouth. Steve looked up at Tony and said, “I need you to look up a couple of people for me… And maybe make their lives a little bit harder like you did with Max?”

 

“May I ask why?” Tony said after a pause and Steve grimaced.

 

“I don’t think it’s my place to tell you that…” he said then hesitated. “But if you promise this goes no further than the two of us—you can’t tell _anyone_ , Tony—I’ll tell you. Only because I’m asking a favor.” Tony mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key before crossing his heart and Steve had to grin a little bit at the childish gesture. He kissed his boyfriend briefly and sighed.

 

“The people I’m asking you to look for are Max’s friends. Four of them. Clint told Nick and me during his debriefing that, one night, all six of them were having drinks at their place, and he and Max were doing… you know… things couples do: kissing, touching, that kind of thing. And then these friends said they were feeling ‘left out.’” Tony nodded for him to continue, but could guess fairly well where the story was headed. “And so Max offered that Clint… you know… ‘go down’ on them, which he was rather unwilling to do… so he was kind of… forced into doing it…” Steve looked red with anger and a bit green at the same time, so Tony didn’t push and just nodded instead. “People can’t do that, Tony. How can they even _think_ of it?”

 

“Shh…” Tony murmured, wrapping his arms around Steve again and petting his hair. “They won’t get away with it, baby. We’ll make sure of that, yeah?”

 

… … … … …

 

“Aww, man!” Clint cried, throwing the Wii-mote on the ground in a fit of petulance after Thor _creamed_ him again at virtual tennis. The god laughed thunderously and triumphantly, holding his Wii-mote aloft like a trophy and parading it around the Wii console.

 

“You probably shouldn’t be challenging someone who swings an axe on a day-to-day basis to a sport where he is required to swing something else,” Bruce commented from the couch, looking up from his book in amusement. Clint turned to him and stuck his tongue out, only to sigh loudly a moment later and throw himself down beside Bruce.

 

“No, you’re right, of course,” he agreed, grinning as Thor proclaimed his dominance over the sniper. “Oh, shut it, you brute!” he yelled with a laugh and Thor turned to him with a grin of his own.

 

“You shall address me not with foul language, mortal!” Thor declared, pointing the Wii-mote at Clint. “Or thus be subjected to the might of Thor!” He flexed his biceps and held the remote up to the ceiling as if holding a sword, sending Clint into another fit of giggles. Eventually, Thor laughed as well and plopped down beside Clint. “Might we finish the story of the dragon trainer and his night fury?” he asked, which Bruce took as a cue to plop in _How to Train Your Dragon_ which they hadn’t managed to finish yesterday when the mission bell broke out. Clint settled himself down to lie across the sofa, his head in Bruce’s lap and his feet in Thor’s.

 

They were halfway through Hiccup and Toothless’ battle with the giant dino-dragon thing when Clint spoke.

 

“You aren’t treating me any differently because of what happened last week are you?” His eyes were still trained on the TV while Bruce and Thor exchanged a brief glance over him.

 

“Does it feel like we’re treating you any different?” Bruce asked, running his fingers through Clint’s hair. The archer made a small noise that neither agreed nor disagreed with the question. He didn’t say anything more, though, so the three returned to watching the movie, putting on another one after the first until Phil got home to tug Clint to bed.

 

… … … … …

 

_This_.

 

This was why Steve needed to be caught up to the future. Because people like them shouldn’t be doing things like this.

 

“A picnic? Really?” had been Clint’s exact reaction when Steve pitched the idea after their debriefing the day before. Phil looked as stoic as ever, but Clint could see the amusement and hesitance warring in his eyes. Nick’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the captain, his expression unreadable. Tony grinned in amusement, Natasha rolled her eyes, Bruce ignored them all, and Thor started detailing out the plans.

 

And so Clint found himself on a bright Sunday afternoon sitting in a field of flowers in the middle of Keukenhof Gardens in the Netherlands, snacking on gourmet sandwiches packed by Tony’s staff, lying his head on Phil’s lap. The other agent had a book in one hand and was stroking Clint’s hair with the other. Tony, Thor, Steve and Bruce played a game of Frisbee in the distance (which they were technically not supposed to do, but Tony had this area of the gardens shut down for the day), Nick was napping under a tree, and Natasha was off somewhere, looking at the flowers and possibly terrorizing some tourists who got too close to their space.

 

It was a strange day to be had; they didn’t have many like it—

 

Come to think of it, Clint could never remember a day like this before.

 

He looked up at Phil, intending to say something, but his boyfriend looked down at him, smiled softly and placed a small kiss on his lips and Clint forgot what he was supposed to say. Instead, he sat up and climb onto Phil’s lap so that he could get a proper kiss.

 

He didn’t have to say anything for Phil to understand him; Phil just _knew_ , and that was probably the best thing about having a boyfriend with psychic powers.

 

“Hardly, Barton,” Phil said, a laugh in his voice. Clint blinked in confusion.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“I don’t have psychic powers,” Phil clarified, making Clint more confused. “You’re just very, very easy to read.” He kissed Clint out of his confusion and the archer sent him a sly smile.

 

“Yeah? Well, read this,” he said and pulled Phil into a long, deep kiss.

 

… … … … …

_Reviews are loved!~_


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